


Interlude: Hookman

by leonidaslion



Series: Berserker [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Gen, Spirit Animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-02
Updated: 2011-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-15 07:51:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonidaslion/pseuds/leonidaslion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After St. Louis, Dean dreamed in wolf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude: Hookman

After St. Louis, Dean dreamed in wolf.

Some nights, it seemed as though he wasn’t so much _seeing_ the world around him as _smelling_ it. Every color—every minute shift in shading—had a corresponding scent. The scarlet of a distant sunset smelled like the earth, newly damped by spring rain; the brighter red of the Impala’s brake lights smelled like summer-warm tar.

Only blood had the same, metallic zing regardless of the place it held in that sanguine spectrum. And although the smell made him nervous when he was awake, here in the wolf dream it sent tight curls of hunger through his stomach.

As if that wasn't complicated enough, sounds left trails through the air. It was a phenomenon Dean had experienced only once before: when a hookup had slipped him a little acid along with her tongue. Candy blue swirls fell from bird wings onto the forest floor, and the whisper of the wind through the trees fogged mint. His own footfalls as he ran sent off jagged amber sparks. When he opened his mouth and howled, the sound came out as silver as moonlight.

In the dreams, he hunted. Sometimes he fed on what he killed, letting the slick meat slide down his throat in rich strips. Sometimes there was rutting afterward: an act too primitive and ravenous to be called something as human as ‘sex’.

Other nights, his vision was his own, and the air was so devoid of smells that it struck him as sterile. In those dreams, the wolf ran beside him. When he sat with his back against a tree, it lay its massive head in his lap. It never spoke to him: just gave him reproachful, longing looks. Just hunted with him and showed him what it would be like if they were one. Showed him how peaceful and perfect it would be if he just gave in.

In the morning, Dean woke from those dreams with the taste of blood in his mouth and a restless energy flooding his body. He delayed long enough to toss on some sweats and a pair of sneakers before sprinting out into the predawn light. As he pounded across the pavement, his half-dreaming mind told him that the asphalt should smell like an approaching storm on the air. His eyes caught phantom glimpses of amber curling up around the edges of his footsteps.

Sam noticed that his habits had changed, of course—Dean could tell from the way his brother watched him—but he seemed to be waiting for Dean to bring it up. Kid had the patience of a goddamned mountain.

Even though the dreams were driving him nuts, it took Dean almost a week to find some alone time to call Bobby. Sam stuck to him like a tick on a dog, and after what had happened in St. Louis, Dean hadn’t had the heart to yell at him for it. If the kid needed reassurance, then he was entitled to it. Still, by the time Sam finally volunteered to go pick up dinner on his own, Dean was about a day away from drugging his brother so that he could get some answers.

Bobby picked up on the second ring and seemed genuinely pleased to hear from him. The man already knew about John's disappearance, and said bluntly that it was for the best. They shot the shit for a while—talking about Sam mostly, and how he was doing—and then Dean decided to just come out with it before he lost his nerve.

He interrupted Bobby in the middle of a lecture on mourning periods and how long he could let Sam go without talking about things before it got unhealthy by blurting out, “I lost the amulet.”

Bobby sucked in a horrified breath on the other end of the phone and Dean rushed to add, “Only for a few days, and I—I got it back, but, uh, that’s why I was calling. For some reason it’s not working right anymore. I keep having these really freaky dreams, and—”

“Jesus Christ,” Bobby said, so faintly Dean almost didn’t hear him.

“I’m fine, really,” Dean lied. “I mean, I can’t hear the wolf, and it’s sleeping again, but—those dreams, you know? I figured maybe I needed to come back so we could do that ritual again. Recharge the damned thing’s batteries or something.”

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” Bobby growled. “He didn’t tell you.” Dean thought that if he’d heard that tone of voice in the wolf dreams, it would have looked like rusted lightning.

“Who didn’t tell me what?” he asked slowly, although he had the sinking feeling that he already knew the ‘who’ at least.

“John,” Bobby said, and Dean thought, _Bingo_. He tried to rouse some anger at his father, but couldn’t quite manage it because Bobby followed up with, “He didn’t tell you that the amulets are a one shot deal.”

For a few moments, Dean’s attention was focused so deeply inside himself that the motel room seemed to fade around him. He was waiting for the sneaky bastard to pop out like it had in the alley. But he could only sense the wolf faintly, and it still seemed to be locked in an uneasy slumber.

“Dean?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. Jesus _Christ_ , Bobby.”

“You doing okay?”

“No, but keep going anyway. If it’s only a one-time thing, how come the wolf’s asleep again? I mean, it’s not under as deep, but it isn’t nagging me every other second either.”

“If I had to guess off the top of my head, I’d say that it’s still working in a limited capacity because you’ve been so stubborn about not letting the wolf in. You’re still _you_ enough to have given the amulet that extra boost it needed to put it under again.”

“But not completely.”

“No. You said you’re having strange dreams?”

“Yeah.”

“You dreaming that you’re the wolf or is it just there with you?”

Dean thought about the dreams where the colors and the scents offered him a confusing yet exhilarating world. Then about the dreams where the wolf ran fleet-footed at his side. “Um. On and off both ways.”

Bobby grunted. “I think you’re dreaming yourself into the wolf’s head. Or it’s dreaming itself into yours. The connection was always strongest when you were asleep.”

“Do you think—is there a chance that it can use me again? When I’m under?” He swallowed thickly and then made himself ask, “Could it use me to hurt Sam?”

“I don’t think so,” Bobby said cautiously. “You probably don’t need to worry about that unless you start hearing it when you’re awake.”

“Probably’s not good enough.”

“No, it isn’t,” Bobby agreed, “But it’s all I’ve got.” He hesitated and then said, “I take it you haven’t told him anything.”

“I’ve got it under control.”

“You really don’t.” Then, in a gentler tone, Bobby added, “Dean, this is important. You have to tell him.”

“I know.” Dean cleared his throat. “I will.”

“Before or after that thing gets hold of you again?” Bobby prodded.

“I said I’d do it!” Dean snapped.

“Tomorrow.”

Pushy son of a bitch. “Give me some time to—”

“You’ve _had_ time, and plenty of it. You’re just gonna have to bite the bullet on this one and tell him. He’ll understand.”

Maybe he would. Or maybe he’d be as disgusted with Dean’s incompetence as Dean was. Maybe he’d blame him for Dad _(and he’d be right; it was Dean’s fault)_ and run off on him. Maybe Sam would hate him for being such a weak, stupid fuck.

Then again, when measured against Sam’s safety, none of that really mattered.

“All right, okay?” Dean said in a hoarse, strangled voice. “I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

But he didn’t. He spent almost two weeks _not_ telling Sam. The moment was never right, or Sam wasn’t in a receptive mood, or they had more important _(ha)_ things to worry about. Dean knew he was stalling and couldn’t seem to make himself do anything about it.

It wasn’t until he was watching the cross that had been forged out of the hookman’s hook melt in the fire that he found the motivation to prod himself into action. As the flames first blurred and then obliterated the shape of the cross, he was overcome by a wave of vertigo so strong that he had to grab the wall to keep from falling over.

He held onto the brick and understood, maybe for the first time, how vulnerable he was. The only thing standing between him and damnation, after all, was a hunk of metal at the end of a leather cord. How easily the amulet could be ripped off. How easily it could be destroyed, if one of the nasty sons of bitches that they hunted was intelligent—or lucky—enough to spot that weakness.

Dean was cold and shaking when he trudged up the stairs to rejoin his brother. Dread was a grey, smoky taste in his mouth. For the first time, he realized that he _had_ to tell Sam: that other option he’d been delaying for wasn’t going to show up to save the day. He was going to have to sit Sam down and tell him everything, and he was going to have to do it as soon as possible.

The knowledge burned like molten metal all the way down.


End file.
